


In the Cold

by Just_All_Random



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cutting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Minghao Centric, Past Child Abuse, Running Away, Two Shot, road to recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 04:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17237435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_All_Random/pseuds/Just_All_Random
Summary: What three friends can do to help a broken child and the road to recovery.





	1. Lost: Keep Turning

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still iffy about posting this bc it's such an emotional dump of angst but I've had it for a while and I finally decided to finish and post it
> 
> I usually say this at the end but I'd like to remind everyone that this fic is PURE FICTION and written up to my current knowledge. I'm sorry if I offend you or if I'm incorrect or for any typos or anything you don't understand.
> 
> I recommend you listen to Kara's section of the d:bh ost bc that's where I got this whole idea and inspiration from
> 
> If you couldn't tell from the tags, this is gonna be a bumpy ride so buckle up and I hope you enjoy :)

 

Looking up, cheek stinging, eyes burning, his father towered over him with this look in his eyes that would've scared Minghao if he wasn't so used to is already, as well as the putrid smell of alcohol. Behind him, his mother stood, holding his shoulder, holding him close, screaming, shouting. She stepped further away from his father, taking Minghao with her until both of them were in a full on sprint, dashing to the front door of the house, running away. His father shouted, yelled at them, cried out, begging for them to come back.

Minghao looked forward, observing his mother's expression as she kept running. It was only then that he noticed he was running as well, the darkness surrounding them and the rain pouring on their now-soaking wet clothes. But he didn't mind it, unable to think anyways, holding onto his mother's hand tighter.

There was no way he was letting go.

 

Minghao was twelve when he and his mother ran from home to seek the support of a dear friend of his mother's, whom of which Minghao had only found out about now. His mother never told him about Mrs. Wen, but Minghao figured that was for the best. Somehow, he knew that if his mother told him about Mrs. Wen, his father would be the one finding out sooner or later, and it would either be Minghao or his mother that would be sleeping hungry, if not both. Minghao would much rather starve then see his mother do the same for him.

Mrs. Wen's son, Junhui, was always a nice person, always so bright, always so supportive, always smiling, always so happy, always too much. Minghao found it hard to handle the older, annoyed of his presence. He wanted him stay away, he hated him. Junhui wouldn't stop smiling, wouldn't stop showing off how happy he was, showing off how much of a better life he had in front of Minghao, showing off how great it felt to be loved by a father, how happy he was when Minghao clearly wasn't.

Junhui was the epitome of perfect while Minghao lived in the darkest parts of his shadow. He hated it, but he didn't know what to do about it, unable to bring himself to hurt Junhui in any way, unable to be just like his father instead he was in a drunken fury of jealousy, not alcohol.

So, he locked himself up, locking Junhui out.

Locking himself in his and Junhui's shared room alone was by far one of his best ideas he ever had at the moment. Scratch that, he wasn't alone. He was together with a knife that felt so good in his skin. He would've never had an alone time like this back with his father, he always hid the knives from him and his mother, all he had back then were his fingernails, but this was a whole new level. It was like when Minghao had his first taste of his father's beer. He liked that time, that time his father smiled at him, and he felt happy. His mother never gave him alcohol, so this was Minghao's alternative.

Blood. Blood dripped down his arm and onto his bed. He smiled to himself. This was better than any alcohol Minghao had ever tasted.

Somehow, Junhui was in the room after half an hour of banging and kicking the door, finally getting the locked door open through pure brute strength and hardiness. Minghao had barely noticed the banging, having grown used to it since his father did that a lot.

Junhui's friend was with him, and looking up at Junhui's friend's mortified and afraid but concerned expression that looked so familiar, he felt embarrassed, his euphoric smile melting off his face.

Tears welled up in his eyes and he felt disappointed in himself, the same feeling he had the day his mother found out he was drinking alcohol with his father. He dropped the knife and grabbed his bloody sheets to cover up his arms, breath uneven and quickening. He felt light headed, the world around him spinning as Junhui held him close, tossing the bloody knife aside and far from Minghao, shouting at his friend to go call the ambulance.

The words "I'm sorry" were repeated more than a million times that night.

 

With fresh, new bandages wrapped around his arms, Minghao took a deep breath on the high school grounds, Junhui and his friend, Wonwoo, patting his back comfortingly as the three of them walk together.

Minghao didn't miss the weird glances everyone shot his way, always judging him, always snickering, the kid who still cut himself. He didn't mind them anymore, already used to them. He was going to change anyways, he promised Junhui and Wonwoo, that promise still three years in the making. He was getting better at resisting the temptation now that Wonwoo decided to help him recently, though he just hadn't mastered it yet.

Minghao walked down the halls alone amongst the river of students. He scrunched his nose to the smell of cigarette smoke. He hated that smell more than he did of alcohol, and he could at least tolerate the latter because his father never smoked. He turned his head to the source and followed it to the bathroom, looking up at the tall perpetrator with a cigarette butt in between two fingers, leaning against the bathroom wall. Minghao took the cigarette, threw it to the ground, and stepped on it, grinding it into the tiled floor with unnecessary vigor.

"You smell disgusting," Minghao muttered. "Stop smoking."

And with that, he left the bathroom, subtly sniffing his clothes if he had any trace of smoke on his shirt. He cussed under his breath, making a reminder for later to ask Junhui for his spray deodorant during gym.

Something wrapped itself around his wrist, so he shook it off, snatching his hand away. He looked up to the smell of cigarette smoke, scowling.

"I'm Mingyu. Kim Mingyu."

Minghao examined Mingyu head to toe, wondering why he was introducing himself when he rudely took and stepped on his cigarette.

Shrugging, he turned around, walking with the flow of the other students. Mingyu was suddenly by his side, walking with him, still smelling of smoke. He began to talk, ask questions like what was his name and how old was he, but all Minghao could focus on was Mingyu's stench. He was only ignoring him, but one question made him snap defensively.

"Why are you wearing those bandages?"

"Shut up already!" Minghao barked at Mingyu. "Why are you following me anyways?"

Mingyu stayed quiet for a moment, but he didn't seem as agitated as Minghao. The latter was about to just turn and walk away when Mingyu finally said something.

"I just wanted to say they look cool on you."

Minghao stopped in his tracks, looking down at his arms. He scratched at them with pursed lips, remembering his promise with Junhui and Wonwoo and the worried expression they always wore and this morning when Wonwoo helped him put the bandages on. He was the kid who cut himself and had to wear new bandages everyday in order for his arms to heal properly. Who was this Mingyu and how did he not know of him already? Shouldn't it have been obvious he cut himself if he wore bandages?

Turning around, Minghao extended out his arm, hand open.

"I'm Minghao, a freshman."

Mingyu smiled at him, and Minghao could feel a blush creep up his face as Mingyu took his hand into his and shook it.

 

The paint sprayed out of the can and onto his canvas, the cement wall. The white over blacks, blues, pinks, and yellows were so calming to look at, so comforting to know that he made it himself.

"That's pretty," Mingyu gaped in amazement, tugging his mask down to look at the infinity sign Minghao painted onto the wall. Mingyu could always properly appreciate his art, unlike Wonwoo and Junhui. After all, it was Mingyu who introduced him into this amazing thing called spray painting. Mingyu seemed to always understand him more than either Wonwoo or Junhui ever could, and Minghao was grateful to have him as a close friend.

This was the most fun he had in a while; Wonwoo would be so proud to see he wasn't cutting himself, though Junhui would be indifferent, knowing that what Minghao was illegal. That was Junhui, always looking out for him, but Wonwoo always looked into the silver lining of things, keeping his worries to himself.

He wondered briefly of what his father and mother would think. His mother would, without a doubt, be disappointed, but what about his father?

Minghao shook his head and took out his phone, taking a few pictures of his art, saving them. He heard the click of a lighter opening, whipping his head around to Mingyu, who had a cigarette in between his teeth and a lighter open, fire getting closer to the end of the cigarette. Minghao stomped over to Mingyu, smacked the lighter out of his hands and snatched the cigarette to stomp on. He held his hand out.

"Give it," he ordered.

"That was my last one."

"Lies," Minghao narrowed his eyes. Unluckily for Mingyu, he was the world's best pickpocket and was able to steal the half full box of cigarettes. Grabbing the lighter off the ground, he threw both the lighter and the box of cigarettes to god knows where, neither of them able to see it clearly as it disappeared into the shadows of the night.

"No more of those, you smelled good for once!" Minghao scolded him.

"What am I supposed to use now?" Mingyu asked. Minghao stared at him, debating whether or not to just unapologetically shrug or do something else. Unable to define the other choice, his body told him what it was.

Stepping closer to Mingyu, Minghao stood on toes, hands on the other's shoulders to use as leverage. He leaned into Mingyu, lips pressing against the others. Hands hesitantly plant themselves on Minghao's hips.

"You can use my lips instead," Minghao whispered, lowering his head shyly. After a moment of silence, Mingyu pulled him close, hands wrapped around his abdomen. He kissed the top of Minghao's head, and Minghao felt a smile creep up his face. It was almost euphoric, the way the kiss felt, almost up to par with the knife.

"That could work."

 

The knife was slammed onto the table in front of him with an alarming clang, and Minghao jumped, whipping his head up when Wonwoo suddenly stood directly across from him. The junior was silent, watching him, observing him. It kinda creeped Minghao out, eyes flickering from Wonwoo to the knife in front of him. It called his name, it wanted to be in his skin, it wanted to add to his collection of scars.

He reached a hand out towards it, hesitating as he remembered Wonwoo was watching him. His hand trembled and he balled his fist, retracting it and placing it in his lap, clawing at his other hand. He bit his lip, looking up at Wonwoo, asking him to get that thing away from him. Wonwoo nodded, taking the knife and putting it away where everyone but Minghao knew where.

"I'm sorry," Minghao said, head hanging low when Wonwoo joined him by his side.

"There's nothing for you to be sorry about, you're getting better," Wonwoo reassured him, rubbing comfortable circles on his back. Minghao stood up from his chair, walking to the couch in the living room. "You've really improved, I'm telling you," Wonwoo insisted as if he didn't get the message across already, sitting down next to Minghao, so close their shoulders brush against each other.

"I wanted to do it, though," Minghao sighed.

"But you didn't."

"Only because you were standing right in front of me."

Wonwoo looked to Minghao, examining his expression. "Would you rather I stay with you at all times, then?"

The question caught Minghao off guard, eyes widening as his face got redder. Wonwoo's hand intertwined with his, a soft squeeze only easing a few of Minghao's nerves.

"What do you mean?" Minghao nervously asked, his mind running a mile a minute. Wonwoo took his chin in between in his fingers. Every thought that passed through his mind was vague or too quick for him to decipher, but there was one thing he could think of, one thing that constantly made an appearance amidst the rushing river of thoughts. Mingyu.

But Minghao didn't pull away when Wonwoo leaned closer into him, lips fitting with Minghao's. He didn't utter a sound, just took it in as it came, processing. The thought of Mingyu was pushed to the back of his mind, relishing in how soft Wonwoo's kiss was. He melted into Wonwoo, pushing his lips against his until both of them pull away, out of breath.

Guilt. Guilt pooled in Minghao's stomach and he abruptly stood up, running to his and Junhui's shared bedroom to slam the door shut. The hand that held Wonwoo's tingled with a warm feeling that spread throughout his body strangely.

Relief. He wanted relief, something, anything. He drowned out the knocking on his door and Wonwoo on the other side, taking a chair to barricade the door shut since they removed their lock from the door ever since Minghao's first incident. He had no alcohol, no knives, nothing. His breathing intensified, chest filling. Relief, he needed it now.

His eyes fell to his desk. There weren't any knives there, but there was a lighter Minghao used for himself when he confiscated it from Mingyu a while back. He hastily opened each drawer until he spotted a shiny, blue lighter slide around his drawer from how hard he opened it. His hand went out to reach for it, but he stopped, even as his chest hurt with guilt and wanted to be relieved of this crushing feeling on his chest. His hand trembled and he balled his fist, slamming the drawer shut.

He forced his breathing to even out as much as possible, nails digging into his palms and breaking past skin, blood leaking from his clenched fists. He hissed, turning to the door to think about grabbing his bandages from the bathroom, but he decided against it, knowing Wonwoo would be right outside his door. He grabbed two of his unused shirts, tightly wrapping them around his hands, eyes trailing up to look at his window.

Tightening the knot with his teeth, Minghao got on top of his desk and opened his window. He panned over the room one last time, grabbing his black mask, leaving his phone on his bed before perching himself onto the window. He carefully but swiftly slid down the roof and down the gutter tube, which was slippery from last night's rain. His hand slipped and he fell back into slightly damp grass. With a cough, he brushed it off, running to god knows where, following whatever sensible thought he had left.

  
He stood at the front door of Mingyu's house, hand clenching at the shirt wrapped around it, hesitantly raising to knock on the door. His other hand was jammed in his hoodie pocket, barely able to fit it from how big the shirt was.

He sighed, pulling his mask and hood up, and turned around. A car drove into the driveway of Mingyu's house, the figure all too familiar. Minghao made eye contact with Mingyu inside the car and quickly bolted the opposite way. No matter what his heart said, no matter that it told him to stay and apologize to Mingyu, he couldn't. He couldn't face him, he was too much of a coward, and if it weren't for the shirts wrapped around his palms, his nails would be digging into them again.

Mingyu chased after him but was too slow, and Minghao, for once, was happy he smoked, his lung capacity not as stable as Minghao's. He felt bad when he heard him coughing, but he didn't look back and sprinted forward. He didn't know where to go, just somewhere that wasn't so familiar.

His wish was granted when he ended up in a place beyond recognition, legs tired and sore, head spinning, eyes red and watery, heart swollen. He stood on the mulch of a small, bare playground surrounded by an apartment complex probably thirty stories off the ground. Minghao looked up, feeling dizzier doing so. Such height seemed so frighteningly desirable to him, for what reason he didn't know. But he shot down the thought, too tired to even walk to the doors of the complex, settling for the swing set that gently swayed with the breeze, almost as if the ghost of a child sat there. It was lonely, and Minghao liked it.

Sitting down, Minghao held onto the slightly rusted chains of the swings. He had no intention of swinging, only somberly waiting for something to just appear in front of him, something to happen. His mind slowed, sitting in the swing beside him.

_What do you think?_

That was a good question, so good Minghao couldn't find a definite answer for it. He rolled up his sleeve and looked at the bandages Wonwoo put on for him this morning. He scratched and picked at it, but soon stopped when his mind told him to. It was best not to disappoint Wonwoo any further after that act, taking off his bandages made him upset. But maybe Mingyu would be disappointed as well, and surely his mother and Junhui would be extremely disappointed in him for running away. Even if his father wasn't present in his life anymore, he would be disappointed too.

 _None of this is your fault_.

His mind refused to cave in, refused to believe Minghao was to blame. But there was no telling what would happen once you saw one support beam of the mineshaft was missing.

Crying felt like the only option at that point, but even then, his heart was too swollen to utter a tear. All he could do was shake and tremble, the chains of the swing clinging along with his tremors. Everything felt bleak and meaningless, cold and dreary, not even a knife to relieve his tension, not a dollar to buy one. His chest was tight, so close to passing out. So he let it happen, mind unable to stop him as it was crushed under the ruble and dirt of the mineshaft.

 

"We're moving."

Such words would have broken Minghao's heart if he didn't hate this place so much already. Though not a single emotion was brought out of him, just the fake, disappointed frown he mastered within a week. He was good at mimicking emotions, it was his natural-born gift. He made sure of that after running away a week ago, knowing one crack in his act could break the entire performance.

He avoided Mingyu and Wonwoo within that week, Junhui staying by his side as much as possible, though he seemed to know it wasn't working as any kind of solace for the younger. Minghao wondered how he could know this—how did he slip up?

Minghao hadn't seen Wonwoo in the house since he ran away, and Mingyu stopped trying to visit Minghao after Junhui probably politely told him to stay away. Minghao wondered if he should be happy about that, wondered if Junhui and Wonwoo were even friends anymore. He felt at fault if they weren't, put he pushed aside the thought as Junhui wrapped his arms around him in a farewell.

Junhui's hugs were always so warm.

 

The new apartment reminded him of the playground he passed out on: bleak and cold. He put his boxes down in his room and passed out like he had in the playground.

 

His mother entrusted him to cut the vegetables after she taught him how to cut them the other day. If felt good to use the knife properly, slicing carrots and beans and onions. He enjoyed it with an unusual passion, quickly becoming a master of it. However, his mother wasn't home at the time, still driving home from work. He was alone, and she thought she could trust him. Minghao thought so too, after working so hard with Wonwoo all those years.

While cutting the onion, Minghao's hand slipped, cutting his finger instead, and a sudden rush of familiarity flooded his body. He watched as his blood dripped down his finger and onto the cutting board. A grin creeped up his face as his hand directed the knife to his arm.

His mother walked into the house, screaming as she saw her son slumped against the kitchen counter, curled into a ball on the floor, blood running down his arms and onto the white tile floor.

 

Minghao ran away a lot since they moved. Today, he visited the place he and Mingyu hid out at for the first time in a while, a red spray paint can in his hand. Pulling up his mask, he promptly made his way up to the infinity sign he made what felt like years ago but was only about a week or two ago. He sprayed red all over it, scribbling over it so he didn't have to see it.

It meant nothing to him anymore.

  
His mother watched him tiredly as she assisted him with his bandages. Minghao was never good at putting on his bandages, that's why he always asked Wonwoo to do it for him. He bit his lip as he took off the old bandages, repressing a wince. He applied the ointment and tried his best to smooth out each bandage he wrapped around his arms to the best of his ability, but it always turned out sloppy and messy, his mother having to do it for him in the end. He wanted to scratch and rip them off and redo it again.

It was never like how Wonwoo did it.

 

Waking up wasn't easy. No one was there to wake him up or open the blinds so he could cover his eyes from the bright sunlight. No one was there for him. His mother was already at her new job, working early in the morning until late at night as always. His phone vibrated and lit up his dark room.

Well, there was one person.

Junhui still texted him, always saying good morning and good night and the occasional "I miss you's." It constricted Minghao's already torn heart, wrapping bits and pieces of it together. Surprisingly, there was a text from Wonwoo. "Put on your bandages," it read. Minghao wondered how Wonwoo even knew he was cutting himself again. Did he hear it from Junhui? He thought they weren't friends anymore, maybe he was wrong.

Getting up wasn't easy either. Junhui would usually pick him off his bed, but it's been two weeks since he moved out, and today was hit first day back to school as a junior. A new high school, a fresh start, right? Minghao could care less. He hated people and he didn't need more of them to ruin his life. The only person he really wanted to see was Junhui.

And that was what prompted him to get up and grab his phone. He took his backpack, throwing his wallet into the bag of paint spray cans. He was about to walk out the door, keys in hand, when he stopped in front of his bathroom. He took his bandage kit, stuffing it into his backpack before leaving the apartment.

Locking the door, Minghao pulled his mask and hood up, walking down the hallway to the elevator, intention in each step.

 

The bus stopped, so Minghao got off, walking down the street that was ingrained into his memory after four years, his body leading the way. He stood at the door of Junhui's house, hand up and ready to knock. He hesitated, the moment all too familiar.

 _No. You aren't running away_.

He knocked on the door and waited. Finally, the door clicked, unlocking. It slowly opened and Minghao held his breath in anticipation. It was Mrs. Wen.

"Minghao!" She gaped, throwing her arms around Minghao. His arms slowly went up to wrap around her as well. "You're supposed to be in school," she said as she pulled away. Minghao shook his head.

"Where's Junhui?" Minghao asked.

"He's at school. Does your mother know you're here?"

Minghao nodded, lying with his mastered mimic emotions. Though Mrs. Wen didn't seem to buy it, she let Minghao inside. "Do you want to eat?" She asked, but Minghao ignored her, rushing upstairs.

The door to his and Junhui's shared room, now Junhui's own room. So many memories in there, so much of Minghao's blood in there, old stains conveniently covered by objects. He quickly opened the door, impatience getting the best of him.

Opening the door was like a breath of fresh air, clearing Minghao's lungs though he was already breathless. Two beds. Junhui still had two beds in the room, but Minghao's side was barren, except for the crinkled box of cigarettes that was placed on his desk. Junhui didn't smoke, Minghao knew for a fact Junhui would never. This had to be Mingyu's box. Did Mingyu and Junhui talk while he was gone. What about Wonwoo?

"Minghao?" Mrs. Wen knocked on the door.

Without a second thought, Minghao collapsed onto his old bed and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep when Mrs. Wen opened the door. She sighed, closing the door again. He kept his eyes closed, letting the unconscious consume him.

 

"Minghao?!"

Minghao was pulled into a tight, rib-crushing embrace, suddenly awoken from his slumber. He let out a strangled breath, hands reaching up to grasp tightly onto the shirt of the one crushing all his bones. Junhui. The latter let out light breath of laughter, loosening his grip around Minghao and burying his face into his shoulder.

Minghao pulled away to look at Junhui's face. He let out a huff of laughter. His voice cracked and so did his mask. Minghao broke down, sobs wracking through his body and blurring his vision until he couldn't see anymore. Junhui held him close through it all, letting him cry out his broken heart. Ugly cries and wails filled the room but he didn't care. He drenched Junhui's shirt with his tears, shaking in his arms.

A hand went to go stroke his back, a hand that couldn't possibly be the arms holding him tightly. Another hand held his shoulder and brushed his hair back. He didn't know who else was with them, but he didn't bother, crying himself back to sleep in Junhui's arms and at the lulling hands of a few others, heart feeling lighter after every tear he shed.

 


	2. Breathe In: Run with Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rocky road to recovery.

 

Minghao woke up to Mingyu's head resting on top of his arm on the bed, Wonwoo leaning against his shoulder as both of them sat on the carpeted floor. He examined both of their expressions with a tinge of guilt and happiness. He smoothed out the crease on Mingyu's eyebrows, hoping it would make him feel better about himself, which it did—it didn't look like Mingyu was mad at him at least. The orange sunset coming from the window casted shadows over every feature of their faces, eyelashes fanning stripes of shadows over their cheeks. It almost made Minghao's heart feel lighter. Almost.

His body ached, and it felt unbelievably tortuous to lie down on his arm. He grunted as he situated himself on his back, Junhui rustling awake beside him. The other two began to wake up as well, yawning. Minghao sat up, shoulders stiff.

"Are you okay now, Minghao?" Mingyu asked, voice dripping with tiredness.

"I'm sorry," Minghao muttered, biting his inner cheek.

"What?" Wonwoo sat up straight, putting on his glasses. "You don't need to be sorry about anything," he said, reassuringly stroking his thigh. The soft touches were appreciated, but the statement was a lie—Minghao had everything to be sorry about. Minghao shook his head, unaccepting of Wonwoo's comfort. He really was to blame for all of this, there was no need for him to run away that day and cause so much trouble. He clenched his fists.

"If anything, I should be sorry," Wonwoo whispered. Minghao looked at the older curiously. "I should've known you wouldn't like it if I kissed you."

Ah yes, that kiss. Minghao liked that kiss, but despite that he ran away like an idiot. He could've at least confronted Mingyu about it, but he didn't, too much of a coward. He glanced at Mingyu, thinking back to that night with the cement wall and spray cans, and how he offered his lips for him to use instead of cigarettes. He would still offer his lips to Mingyu. But it's not the same anymore, he couldn't give his lips to two other guys.

Mingyu looked between Minghao and Wonwoo, and Minghao's chest tightened with fear and guilt. The look in Mingyu's eyes were blank, Minghao couldn't tell if the other knew about this kiss already or if he just found out about it. He turned away from Mingyu when they made eye contact, frightened. His hand ran up his arm, unconsciously scratching his bandages. The atmosphere was thick and cold, something Minghao wished he wasn't in anymore. He wished for something warm, like Junhui's hugs. He leaned into Junhui, the other wrapping his warm arms around him to Minghao's pleasure.

"Did you put on new bandages?" Junhui asked, poking at the covered arms. Minghao shook his head, but he didn't feel like moving away from Junhui and to his bag.

"I brought them with me," Minghao pointed to his bag that laid on the ground. Wonwoo grabbed the bag, and opened it. He ruffled through it with excessive clanks of cans against each other before he pulled a box out. Mingyu took out a few of the cans, noticing how empty the red paint can was.

"Do you wanna go to the bathroom?" Wonwoo asked, and Minghao shook his head, extending his arms out to him. He missed this, as much as it hurt sometimes. He buried his face into Junhui's shoulder while Wonwoo held his hand, the other hand holding onto one end of Minghao's bandage. He whimpered as Wonwoo ripped it off of him, and he could see both Mingyu's and Junhui's uncomfortable expressions.

"One more," Wonwoo said, but the last one always stung the most. Wonwoo ripped off the last strip of bandage gauze, and there they were, all of Minghao's euphoric moments marked on himself in old scars and new stitches. He watched Wonwoo's face shift. He was disappointed. He had the right to be, all those wasted days trying to help him heal going down the drain after progressing so far.

"I-I'm sorry," Minghao wanted to pull his arm away from Wonwoo, put he kept him tight in his grasp, so all he could do was ball his fist and hope Wonwoo's concerned and disappointed expression would disappear. Junhui massaged his shoulder in attentive circles, and Minghao didn't even know he was holding onto Mingyu's hand until now.

Wonwoo went on to Minghao's other arm, going through the same process of taking them off, which hurt less now that he could crush Mingyu's hand after been given the permission to do so. Wonwoo finished with his other arm, so they had to go to the bathroom to wash his arms up before putting ointment on while Mingyu and Junhui stayed in the room. Wonwoo was always gentle when he washed his stitched cuts, always watching for his reaction, tenderly applying the necessary amount of ointment, unlike how Minghao just slapped it on.

New bandages seemed to make Wonwoo happy, so Minghao smiled with him.

 

Junhui treated baby steps like milestones, always able to make Minghao fluster from his unnecessary praise. Like today when Minghao resisted the temptation of the knife, he celebrated, even though they've witnessed it before. Junhui acted like his extremely supportive rebound since he and his mother could never afford professional help for him, though Minghao preferred his friends over a stranger anyways. Junhui always pulled him off the ground and dragged him along until he was standing again.

"Good job, Hao!" Junhui cheerily praised him, shaking Minghao back and forth by the shoulders.

It annoyed Minghao, though. It was a given that Minghao couldn't be trusted alone, so he had to move back in with Junhui while his mother stayed back at the apartment, closer to her job. He was babied and treated like a fragile piece of glass. He wanted to defy against them, even run away sometimes, though Wonwoo always made sure he wasn't going anywhere or was left anywhere alone.

If Minghao wasn't a kid in Junhui's eyes, he was a fragile baby. Wonwoo knew his boundaries and Mingyu accustomed his reactions in a way Minghao wouldn't be so annoyed about, but Junhui always cooed at him and was always overly cheery about it. Sometimes Minghao wondered if Junhui was even genuine or if he even cared because why would someone be so cheery about a teenager who cut themselves?

"Can you please shut up, Junhui?" Minghao held the bridge of his nose in annoyance. If Junhui's way of making him happier was to be happier himself, it wasn't working, in fact, it was doing the exact opposite. Minghao, who had become irritable to Junhui's constant good mood, was about to get up and walk away before he did anything else he would regret.

"But Minghao, this is a good thing!" Junhui whined from inside the kitchen, hiding the knife somewhere (Minghao found out where—in the top cupboard above the stove, behind the bowls and cereal boxes—but he knew not to let them know he knew of this information).

"Okay, you've been saying that on repeat for the past five minutes, you're getting really annoying," Minghao sighed, resting his head on his palm, elbow on the table. "Wonwoo doesn't do that," he muttered to himself. There was a weird pause from the kitchen, like Junhui froze as he was moving things around. He heard a cupboard close, but Junhui came back with the same knife, a cutting board, and a grin on his face. Minghao's eyebrows furrowed.

"Wonwoo hasn't given you the knife, has he?" Junhui tapped the dull end of the knife, and Minghao felt more concerned that Junhui had the knife than when he had the knife to himself. The younger stayed silent, questioning Junhui with his eyes. "Why don't you cut an apple for me?" Junhui put the cutting board in front of Minghao and snatched an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table to put on the board.

The knife was placed into Minghao's hand and he squeezed it. Junhui instructed him to stand up, and Minghao looked into his eyes, afraid. There was a reason why Wonwoo never willingly put the knife in his hand, it was because Minghao didn't trust himself yet, which proved to be a good idea seeing how Minghao shouldn't have trusted himself when cutting the vegetables. But here Junhui was, putting all his trust in Minghao to cut this apple.

Junhui stood behind him when Minghao stayed still, holding his hands to direct them where they should go, how the knife should go through the apple, keeping the apple still. Minghao caught onto his movements, manually doing it himself. The knife dug itself into the apple and sliced through it until it hit the cutting board. Junhui watched him from behind, hands carefully wrapped around his waist as he slowly cut the apple.

Minghao finished cutting the apple, but he didn't look at the pieces of the cut fruit. His eyes focused in on the knife. He quickly put it down, far away from him. Junhui took an apple slice off the cutting board and bit into it approvingly. He nodded with a smile on his face.

"This is good, Minghao," he softly reassured the younger, patting his lower back. He pecked Minghao's forehead, which spread warmth throughout Minghao's face. It distracted him from looking at the knife on the table, the warmth spreading throughout his chest and resonating in his heart. The corners of Minghao's mouth twitched, almost as if he was unconsciously holding back a smile.

Junhui was his unrelenting support, no matter how annoying, dragging him along if need be.

 

"The stitches came off today," Minghao rolled up his sleeve, revealing his scarred arm free of bandages. Wonwoo took Minghao's arm and examined his latest set of cuts that were beginning to heal on their own.

"That's good," Wonwoo turned Minghao's arm over, eyes widening. Minghao avoided his eyes, looking the opposite direction. Scratches littered Minghao's arm in lines and a dark purple bruise stained his skin. They knew Minghao scratched himself out of habit when he didn't have bandages on, but bruises weren't his habit.

"I fell down the stairs," Minghao sighed, voice cracking for the smallest split second. Wonwoo ran his thumb over Minghao's bruise, the other unmoving. His brows were furrowed, eyes scanning Minghao's body as if he was trying to catch any detail he missed. Minghao tried not to show his nervousness as Wonwoo analyzed him.

"Shirt. Off," Wonwoo commanded him, crossing his arms. Minghao sighed through pursed lips, defeated as he bunched the fabric in his hand and pulled it over his head. He hung his head low, Wonwoo gaping at the sight of his bruised torso, small cuts sprinkled all over.

"I'm fine, really," Minghao insisted, holding his arms close to himself, anxiously trying to hide himself.

"Who did it?" Wonwoo scooted closer to Minghao, fingers running over purple bruises and old lash scars. If Minghao fell down the stairs, he wouldn't have had an abundance of bruises and small cuts on his torso, and Minghao knew that Wonwoo, as an analytical person, could see past his lies from just those simple observations.

"Just some guys," Minghao answered. He knew Wonwoo was disappointed that he wasn't telling him the identities of the guys who beat him up, but it was for his own good. Wonwoo wasn't a fighter, but that didn't mean he couldn't beat someone up, and if word got to Junhui and Mingyu, they would for sure put up a good fight.

"They didn't hit you in the face, did they?" Wonwoo cupped both Minghao's cheeks into his hands, tilting and turning his head to investigate any damage.

"No, they were smart." A busted lip or black eyes would only draw attention towards him, and the people who beat him up just so happen to be the jocks from the basketball team. Since Minghao moved back in with Junhui, he attended the same school as before, bringing more attention onto himself from those same jocks, therefore beatings happened more often. Even if they knew Minghao or any bystanders wouldn't tell on them, they couldn't take any risks to get kicked off the basketball team, so while they did pick on students, they only bruised up what teachers couldn't see.

"Don't compliment the enemy," Wonwoo scolded him, putting medical alcohol on a cotton ball to sterilize the small cuts of any infection. Minghao shivered, damp cotton ball cold on his skin as he waited. "You're gonna need to put ice on you're bruises," he informed the younger, which was the obvious answer, though they both knew Minghao wasn't going to even use the ice and just let it heal on its own.

Wonwoo put on the last bandaid, smoothing it out. Minghao grabbed his sweater and pulled it on, hugging himself for warmth. Wonwoo ruffled his hair, brushing it back and caressing his face tenderly. Minghao let it happen, unknowingly leaning into Wonwoo's warmer touch. Something soft pressed up against his temple, but he didn't jump in shock, he didn't run away. He just sat there, warmth spreading to his face. Oddly, his mind was reminded of Junhui.

"It's okay," Wonwoo rubbed Minghao's shoulder, easing whatever worries that began to bubble up inside of Minghao. The latter wondered how Wonwoo was able to know he was feeling anxious before he even knew himself.

Wonwoo was the one who brushed off the dirt on him and pushed him forward.

 

These jocks weren't smart. These ones were from the football team of pure brute strength, and their punches hurt more than the jocks from the basketball team. They punched Minghao in the face and kicked his shins the day he wore shorts, displaying that he was clearly injured. Those jocks were like that, always wanting their awards visually present at all times so they can brag to girls that that was their trophy. It was idiotic and typical. Even if they knew Minghao and other bystanders wouldn't tell, they didn't care because they knew the teachers equally didn't care.

Fighting back wasn't an option, there were too many people on him that no matter what he did he was outnumbered. He took every hit, acting as their punching bag, though the only difference between him and a real punching bag was that he had a choice to fight back, but he chose not to care.

He weakly stood up after they finally left him alone to go beat up some other random kid. Using the lockers as support, he limped over to the next row of lockers and the next and the next until he got to his row of lockers. He sat on the floor and against his locker, legs hugged close to him. His hand went under his sweater sleeve and scratched, a pathetic feeling consuming his body.

These were the times when Minghao craved a knife the most. He reminded himself that he could get one once he got home since he already knew where they hid them. With that motive in mind and not a second thought, Minghao stood up to turn the dial on his lock until it opened for him.

Closing his locker, Minghao slung one strap of his backpack over his shoulder with enough strength to slowly walk with a pained limp in every step. His left foot dragged behind him, his cheek starting to ache now that the adrenaline had left his body. He swiped his finger over his lip and looked at it. Blood. He licked his lip and sucked on it, a metallic taste spreading in his mouth until it bled less.

A loud bang against a locker and even louder voices encouraged Minghao not to look at that direction. The jocks were beating someone else up. Minghao didn't care who, but he knew he wasn't getting involved any time soon.

"Why do you beat Minghao up, huh?"

That voice.

Minghao stopped in his tracks and turned. Mingyu was pinned up against the lockers by the arms, one of the jocks that beat Minghao up slowly getting up as if he was hurt pretty bad. Minghao's eyes widened, suddenly afraid, afraid they would hurt Mingyu, afraid that Mingyu would get beat up like him, afraid Mingyu would be unable to withstand them like Minghao could.

"So you're friends with him," the jock crossed his arms with an accusatory eyebrow raise.

"No he's not," Minghao said, loud enough for all of them to turn their heads to him. "I've never seen him in my life, so leave him alone." He didn't know what he was saying—he panicked—but it felt like the right thing to do. He knew it was the right choice when the jocks dropped Mingyu and walked towards him.

"You came back for another round, huh? I'm guessing you like this as much as you like cutting yourself," one of the jocks chuckled, and Minghao felt a corner of his lips upturn slightly. That was a funny thought. The jock slapped his face and pushed him down. "What's so funny?" He kicked Minghao's stomach. It left him breathless for a moment, unable to process anything else happening around him.

One jock fell beside him, and Minghao began to regain his sense, rising to his feet.

"Mingyu, stop!" He managed to shout when Mingyu punched a guy in the face and another pushed him down and kicked his back. Minghao, with a fresh dose of adrenaline, tackled one of the guys on Mingyu down and bashed around with his fists uncontrollably.

It was the first time Minghao fought back. He looked at Mingyu, who was fending off two other guys, and then at the one beneath him, his face red and blood trickled down his cheek and mouth. The jock's eyes held this sort of fear Minghao was unable to decipher. He looked down at his hands that were decorated with blood. He didn't think he was capable of doing this, yet it didn't feel right. It didn't feel good.

Minghao scrambled off the jock under him, breathing intensified. The jock stayed there, lying on the cold floor. Minghao finally got to his feet, running to Mingyu and attempting to pull him away from the two other jocks.

Mingyu reminded him of a sword and shield, a shield to protect him and sword to fight for him. But right now, his sword and shield were weakening, and he needed to retreat.

"Mingyu, come on!" Minghao tried to step in front of Mingyu and push him away instead when got caught in the crossfire, a hard punch hitting directly in the cheek.

"Minghao!"

 

It took a lot of convincing to get Wonwoo and Junhui to accompany them in his and Mingyu's nightly activities. Ever since he and Mingyu got suspended a week ago, they've been going around to vandalize any empty cement canvases left in the open for them. It had been a while since Minghao used his spray cans, finding it not as fun as used it to be, but he got back into the hang of it the second the hot pink paint landed on the cement wall. He offered a can to Wonwoo and Junhui, but both refused.

The can hissed as it sprayed across the cement wall in a beautifully bright shade of blue, almost luminescent in the dark alley way as it reflected streetlights and passing headlights, and Minghao felt a nostalgic feeling of relief. He must've missed this more than he thought. He smiled as he grabbed another can of spray paint, letting all the bursts of creativity he forgot he had flow out of him. Out came an old and familiar infinity sign that didn't seem the same or familiar anymore. It felt like a breath of fresh air.

"Wow," Junhui gaped from behind him, hand resting on Minghao's lower back. He recalled that he never showed Junhui a picture of his old one, but he's happy he never did. Back when he made that old one, he had only in mind the wishes he thought of after meeting Mingyu, but this one held so much more. This sign wasn't of wishes but of futures in the distance, unrecognizable.

He heard another can spray behind him, so he watched Mingyu make his art on the wall, standing behind him alongside Junhui and Wonwoo. Reds over greens, yellows accentuating a green stem and purples darkening a red flower. Thorns decorated the green stem of a tattered but dangerous, red rose.

Minghao wanted to touch the paint dripping down the cement wall, so oddly fascinated by the art. Something about it he could relate to, the sharp thorns surrounding the stem, protecting it from harm, a wilted petal so close to breaking away while a few others were already withered away at the ends. He stared at it, suggesting the thought of it resembling him. He shook the thought away, sneaking a few glances at Mingyu.

"Looks great," Minghao said, voice seeming so emotionless despite the admiration in his eyes. A warm hand wrapped around his, giving him a firm squeeze. He watched as Mingyu pulled his mask down, and completely faced Minghao. His other hand caressed Minghao's cheek, the latter watching intently, breaths mingling together. Minghao felt warm around Mingyu, as if his presence was equivalent to Junhui's arms or Wonwoo's gentle touches.

And then time stopped. Mingyu leaned in to plant a soft kiss on Minghao's lips, just like how Minghao did what felt like ages ago. A strange warmth spread throughout Minghao's chest, and he melted. This melting feeling. It felt so good to feel. It also felt good to notice that there was not a scent or trace of smoke on Mingyu, though Minghao couldn't take credit for that, having offered his lips as if it would help him and then avoiding him. It amazed him how good Mingyu was at keeping a promise, way better than Minghao.

They pulled away, and Minghao could see the unusually warm smiles Junhui and Wonwoo had on in the corner of his eye. Mingyu kissed Minghao's temple before wrapping his arms around him tenderly, Wonwoo ran his fingers through his hair, and Junhui pulled all four of them close together.

Warmth. He was surrounded by it, pulling his pieces off the ground and pushing them back together, stuck together by tacky glue. He wasn't complete, a few pieces still missing, but it was enough for him at the moment. This moment, it was good.

 

It was a given Minghao wasn't allowed alone, no matter how much the boy insisted they could trust him. Living in the same apartment altogether was an easy way of making sure he wasn't alone, and while that meant he could be surrounded by warmth 24/7, that meant he really couldn't be alone.

Minghao shared rooms with Wonwoo, the latter always keeping a close watch on him because in the end, all they could do was act as a rebound. He let Minghao cry on his shoulder, cuddled with him when the other had nightmares he didn't admit to, listened to him whenever he wanted solace, but in the end, it wasn't enough for Minghao.

Essentially, even with all of his boyfriends, Minghao clearly wasn't fine. Now that his mother had passed away too early in her life, everything became less than not fine, everything became worst. Minghao knew he was guilty, no matter how much his boyfriends said he wasn't, but he knew that he should've stayed with his mother when he ran away all those times, stressing her to the point of death instead of spending time well needed with her.

Minghao didn't turn back to cutting himself, but he did keep the image of where Mingyu was hiding the knives away. He ran away again, doing god knows what. It felt like escaping was the only option to get away from home, especially since they tried to drag in a therapist. He didn't need therapy, he could never be fixed. Betrayed, he fled home again and again.

It became most worrisome whenever Minghao didn't come back at night. Not that coming back at midnight wasn't worrisome already, but he didn't come back until eight in the morning, before Junhui left for his first class. Cancelling his class, Junhui went off with Mingyu to go search for their boyfriend while Wonwoo stayed home in case Minghao ever came back home.

Minghao did come back home, clothes tattered and smelly, cheek and lip cut with dry blood, eyes red and glossy. He collapsed onto the floor in front of Wonwoo, who ushered him to the bathtub. He cleaned off all the blood and dirt, and called the other two. Minghao rested his head on his knees, listening to Wonwoo's conversation in the phone. Mingyu and Junhui went through the trouble to go out and look for him...

_God, why was he such a mess up?_

Minghao, lowered his head into the water, seeking for the answer in there.

_You're so selfish: running away from all your problems just because you can't deal with them, avoiding everyone because you can't look them in the eye, causing everyone trouble because you think your choices will solve everything though you know nothing at all yourself._

_Wouldn't it be better if you weren't here at all?_

Minghao quickly lifted his head out of the water, breathing heavily, chest aching. Hot tears run down his already-wet face and he lets out a loud sob. That thought. Even after all this time, he was amazed he never even fathomed the thought of suicide. It was always at the back of his mind, a suggestion bitten back as a last resort, yet he never turned to it. He was always motivated to live at the very least until death consumed him naturally or accidentally because he knew his guilt would only be passed onto someone else. Even after death he'd still be a trouble.

 _No_ , he thought. _That's not it_. He was bullshitting himself. Admittedly, he didn't want to die. What he didn't want to admit was that people actually care for him. It was obvious that his boyfriends care, but it was so hard to come to terms with, always unsure of something. Yet he trusted them, trusted they could take care of him, and it was enough to keep him alive. They trusted that Minghao wouldn't do something so dumb that it would change their lives forever. If his boyfriends suddenly stopped caring, then he would be alone with broken trust and a broken heart. So what would've happened if Minghao killed himself?

"I'm sorry," Minghao sobbed, shaky hands covering his face in shame. Wonwoo looked over to the Chinese male, putting down his phone and rushing to his side.

"Minghao, baby, what're you—"

"Don't give me that bullshit!" Minghao shouted. "You guys always say I have nothing to be sorry about, but you're all lying. I know you hate it when I run away, when I hurt myself, when I skip class, so just tell me! Tell me you're disappointed in me and stop lying to me!"

Wonwoo stayed silent, hand running through Minghao's messy, wet hair. He looked away from the boy, in thought.

"I do hate it when you run away," Wonwoo quietly said. "I hated it so much when you cut yourself back then, and I'm always holding breath with you, afraid you'll do it again." A pause. Minghao watched Wonwoo closely. "I hate that you worry me until I feel like I'm going to throw up. I hate that you think you're the blame for every little thing happening in your life. I hate that you push us away when we just want to help you. We just want you to feel better, we want what's best for you, but you push us away when we think we finally got to you!" Wonwoo raised his voice very slightly. An apology looked to be at the tip of his tongue, but Minghao's blank gaze seemed to be the reason why it wouldn't come out.

Minghao sat in silence. His eyes maintained on Wonwoo until the other finally looked back at him. Their eyes stayed, watching, searching. Wonwoo hated so many of the things Minghao did throughout his life, though that much was obvious to the boy. Saying 'sorry' wouldn't do anything, which made Minghao feel guiltier. He wanted to repay Wonwoo and everyone else somehow, he wanted to promise them that he wouldn't do it again, but it wasn't like he trusted himself to keep that promise either. He couldn't do anything.

Wonwoo caressed Minghao's face, wiping away the hot tears that roll down his face and kissing his forehead. "You have nothing to be sorry about. We'll get through this together, all of us, I promise," he held Minghao close to his chest, ignoring the fact that his shirt was getting wet. "Have strength, Minghao. Trust yourself."

Trust yourself. Trust yourself. Trust yourself. For a second, it felt like things clicked. For a second, it felt like that that was the answer. But then why was it so hard to believe? Why was it so hard to trust himself?

"I want to trust that you won't do anything irrational, I want to trust that I can leave you alone for just a second, but I can't because you don't trust yourself to be alone either," Wonwoo explained, Minghao holding onto to every word he said. The older pulled away for a moment, getting a good look at Minghao. "We're your boyfriends because we're here to keep you balanced until you can balance by yourself."

"Are you saying you're going to leave me when I can balance myself?"

"No!" Wonwoo immediately replied, shaking his head. "When you can find balance in yourself, we'll still be by your side to keep you from falling."

They stayed quiet for a moment, Minghao basking in the warmth in Wonwoo's eyes. He felt the overflowing love in those eyes, and it made him feel all warm and bubbly inside, the warmest he felt. With a sudden desire, Minghao grabbed the collar of Wonwoo's shirt, crashing their lips together. Wonwoo grunted, not really caring if his shirt got wet, placing one arm on the bathtub rim and the other in the bathtub with Minghao to balance himself. Their teeth messily clacked against each other and Minghao moaned when Wonwoo inserted his tongue into his mouth.

They finally pulled away, breathing heavy pants. Wonwoo rested his head against Minghao's forehead, regaining their composure. Minghao softly pecked the older's lips.

"Thank you," he muttered after every little kiss. "Thank you so much," he said, kisses getting gradually sloppier as tears ran down his face. But these tears were of gratitude, thankful he had such amazing boyfriends by his side.

 

"I don't want to do this anymore."

"It's only for the best, Minghao," Mingyu said, pulling into the parking lot. From the backseat, Junhui gently massaged Minghao's shoulders.

"Besides, there's no turning back now," Wonwoo bluntly said. After yesterday, Wonwoo promised Minghao that he'd speak his mind and the truth and only the truth to him, no matter how blunt. He trusted Wonwoo with that, knowing the other two would be too hesitant, too scared to crack Minghao any further. (Minghao knew he wouldn't be able to take on all of their truths yet anyways, Wonwoo knew the limit.) Wonwoo was kind of in charge of keeping him in place, reminding him what's good and what's bad.

Mingyu took Minghao's hand into his, lifting it up to kiss the back of his hand. "You're going to be alright," he reassured the boy. Junhui leaned over Minghao's seat, tilting the boy's head to face him so he could easily capture his lips. Pulling away, he caught Wonwoo's comforting grin.

Walking out of the car with Junhui taking his hand before Mingyu could, all four of them walk into the therapist office. The waiting room was empty with only one receptionist at the desk. The room smelled like lemon-scented cleaning products, the room very typical. Despite that, Minghao was nervous, afraid moreover, if not irritated. Mingyu's comforting palm rested on the small of his back, gently pushing him forward to the receptionist.

"Mr. Xu?" She asked, her mouse clicking away. Minghao nodded. "Doctor Choi's office is down the hall, please knock before you enter," she smiled the usual polite stranger smile.

Minghao unsurely looked down the hall behind her desk. Mingyu patted his back, Wonwoo gave him an encouraging nod, and Junhui squeezed his hand. He hesitantly nodded, and everyone let go of him, letting him balance on his own. He took his first steps down the hall, hands trembling in his pockets. He arrived at the door, reading the plate beside it. 'Dr. Choi Seungcheol' it read. He gave the door a shaky knock.

"Come in!" Came from the other side.

Minghao looked back down the hall and at his three boyfriends, who seem to be nervous as well. He took a deep breath. Trust yourself, he repeated in his head as his hand squeezed the doorknob. He sighed, finally turning the knob

He's got this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The writing got a bit shaky towards the end sorry (This whole fic's writing was shaky and the fic itself it a mess hah)
> 
> Constructive criticism is highly appreciated :)

**Author's Note:**

> The writing may be a bit choppy and if there's anymore tags or any warnings I need to add please tell me in the comments as well as if I'm incorrect abt something so I can see what I can do.
> 
> Again, reminder that everything written is all fiction and everything may not be true or correct. My apologies if I offended you.
> 
> Thanxx for reading and happy New Years :)


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